


Two of a Kind

by Miss M (missm)



Series: Two of a Kind [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hate Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Javert's Confused Boner, M/M, Repression, Slurs, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I merely wish for these scoundrels of yours to be brought in, so they can get what they deserve." He forced himself to look away from Montparnasse's lips and regretted it immediately, as his gaze fell upon those dark, beguiling eyes instead. "So I won't have to deal with filth like you anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/gifts).



> From the prompt: "In a canon-era au where Montparnasse is a police spy infiltrating Patron-Minette (although not necessarily a good guy, per se, given corruption levels), he and Javert have a snarky hatesex thing going on. Insulting each other's taste in clothing, morals, etc. = foreplay. Javert retains the psychological upper hand, though." 
> 
> Not so sure about who has the psychological upper hand here, but, well... The title is, of course, ironic. ~~OR IS IT?~~ My thanks to Spiderfire for useful feedback and to the good citizens of the Les Misères chatroom for assistance with period-appropriate slurs.

Montparnasse was not yet twenty, full of the arrogance of youth and the haughtiness of the successful scoundrel. These qualities had earned him a position as police spy, though they did not speak well of his character. Javert's mouth tightened upon seeing him standing there, bold as brass, leaning against the wall of the back alley with an insolent smirk upon his lips. Montparnasse caught his eyes, and his smirk widened, becoming a grin.  
  
Oh, there were certainly enough loose women about who enjoyed Montparnasse's company, but they were hardly the only ones: Montparnasse was just as likely to stroll about with a gaudy tart on his arm as with a seedy-looking man, and he made no secret of either. The first time Javert's gaze had met his, and Montparnasse had smiled, slowly, a sharp glint in his eyes, it had been plain what sort of man the thief was.  
  
Worse, it had also been a reminder to Javert of what sort of man _he_ was, a reminder that kept taunting him, gnawing away at his well-built defences. And Montparnasse _knew_ \-- with every knowing glance, with every pointed remark, Javert felt sure of it. Sometimes the spy's eyes would haunt him after their meetings, leaving him writhing in his bed for hours until he would fall into restless sleep, where Montparnasse's eyes and face and body would mingle with other, half-forgotten memories, and Javert would wake up in the morning with his sheets stained and his heart beating, torn between wistfulness and resentment.  
  
He strode into the back alley and gripped the thief's shoulder. "Come on."  
  
"You're in a hurry," Montparnasse murmured as they made their way towards the dark inner corner of the back alley. "One would think it had been ages since we last saw each other."  
  
Javert's mouth tightened even more. Remarks like these -- casual, almost flirtatious, taunting him -- how he hated them! And yet, his superior had demanded he work with this police spy in an attempt to bring down the Patron-Minette gang. Javert would not disobey, but neither could he find it in himself to be happy with the situation. Having to work alongside this criminal, this degenerate, this two-faced little creature with his pomaded hair, his brazen gaze, his nauseatingly well-tailored clothes, his full mouth, his lithe body, his knowing eyes...  
  
Javert thought he would go mad if the case was not over soon.  
  
"So, Inspector." They had come to a halt in the shadows, and Montparnasse was leaning against the wall again, even more nonchalantly than before. "I have news for you."  
  
Javert folded his arms, though he did not let go of his cudgel. It was firm in his hand, a reminder of his position and his pride. "I hope you have."  
  
"They are planning a robbery in the Marais," Montparnasse said. He'd brought out a knife and let his finger glide over it slowly, his eyes seeking Javert's, a smug smile playing on his lips. Javert pretended not to notice, though his hand tightened its grip on the cudgel. "In two weeks' time."  
  
Javert reluctantly tucked away his cudgel under his arm and got out his notebook. "Details?"  
  
Montparnasse shrugged and put away the knife. "It's a rich man's house. Every summer he goes to Brittany for two months. The house will be empty, save for the servants."  
  
Javert scribbled hastily, then frowned. "I need the date. And the address."  
  
"I don't have them yet," said Montparnasse lightly. His face was impassive, yet Javert felt certain he was lying.  
  
He gritted his teeth. "Really."  
  
Another shrug was his answer. "Claquesous will let me know in a few days' time." The plush mouth widened in another grin. "Another reason for you to see me then, Inspector."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself," Javert said. Montparnasse's lips were red like a woman's -- like a whore's, he thought, not for the first time. "I merely wish for these scoundrels of yours to be brought in, so they can get what they deserve." He forced himself to look away from Montparnasse's lips and regretted it immediately, as his gaze fell upon those dark, beguiling eyes instead. "So I won't have to deal with filth like you anymore."

Montparnasse's expression was merry, insolent. "One would almost think you did not want to meet me. It's hard, isn't it?"  
  
"What is?" Javert snapped.  
  
"Oh, several things." The thief's gaze moved downwards, languidly and deliberately. Javert's face grew hot as he felt his body start to respond. Anger simmered in his chest, churning and resentful, though he knew not at that moment at whom it was directed, Montparnasse or himself.  
  
Montparnasse raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Lying to yourself, for one. It must be very tedious."  
  
At those words, Javert could not help himself anymore. "You dare --!" He strode forward and pushed Montparnasse against the wall, hands clamped on each of his shoulders. The cudgel fell to the ground, but he scarcely noticed. "You dare to call _me_ a liar? You?"  
  
Montparnasse let out a sharp breath as his back hit the wall, but he quickly regained his bearings, smirking at Javert with infuriating calm. " _I'm_ not the one who stares after handsome men while believing myself to be above them."  
  
"You are above no one." Javert's heart beat hard and fast in his chest. Montparnasse's words had sliced into him like a blade, whirling up memories he'd thought safely laid to rest, like so much sediment from the mud. Glimpses of muscle -- the calloused hands of a convict -- his dreams, confused and unwelcome, of an office in Montreuil... Javert swallowed, tightening his grip on the thief. "And I never stare."  
  
Montparnasse had the nerve to laugh at that. "And _I_ am the liar? Go on, look at yourself in a mirror, old man -- you may not appreciate what you see, but it will be a start."  
  
He leaned forward, and there was a dark lewdness to his voice when he murmured, "You may even come to like it."  
  
"You dirty little punk," Javert breathed. His hands fisted in Montparnasse's coat. "You are enjoying this."  
  
Montparnasse nudged a thigh between Javert's, his pink lips parted in a ferocious grin. "So are you, old man." A tongue darted out; Javert followed the movement with his eyes. "I've seen the way you look at me."  
  
Javert ground against him, a quick, brutal gesture born more out of anger than anything else, and Montparnasse gave a moan. "The way you strut about, flaunting your depravity, you... You _want_ me to look at you." His face was very close to Montparnasse's, his snarl a twisted mirror of Montparnasse's grin. "You are perverse."  
  
"Takes one to know one." Montparnasse stared up into his eyes, brazen and taunting. "You know what the difference between us is, Inspector? I can have anyone I want. You, though?" He gave a laugh that was doubtless intended to be disparaging, though it sounded too breathless, too tinged with anticipation. "Easy enough not to give in to temptation when no one wants to tempt you."  
  
"You say one thing and mean another," Javert hissed. Without taking his eyes from Montparnasse's, he moved his left hand to Montparnasse's groin and squeezed. Montparnasse's mouth opened in an _oh_ ; he was hard under Javert's fingers. "Filthy little liar."  
  
Montparnasse bit his lip again. "Dirty old man," he muttered. "Have you ever had anything up your arse, except for a stick?"  
  
Javert was hard, outrageously so, the desire to quell the thief's insolence throbbing through his body, pooling in his loins. "You're a dirty thief and a cocksucker," he growled, putting his face close to Montparnasse's again, palming Montparnasse's groin. "Someone ought to put you in your place."  
  
Montparnasse made a strange sound. His hips bucked against Javert's hand; his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but still he ground out, "I bet you'd love to do that, if you could. If you could still get it up."  
  
Javert's mouth widened in a humourless grin. "Try me."  
  
Montparnasse's face was still all insolent prettiness. Javert could not stand it. Removing his hand from Montparnasse's groin, he flipped him around to face the wall, keeping a death grip on the thief's upper arms. Javert leaned in to hiss in his ear, "If you want it, by God, you shall get it." This close, he could clearly smell Montparnasse's rosy perfume, infuriating and arousing.

"Grand words," Montparnasse panted, "but do you know how to -- ah!" Javert's hand had found his groin again, working to open the trousers. "No, don't, you'll tear the fabric -- here, let me --"  
  
Javert pulled him back from the wall, just so Montparnasse could get his arms around to open his trousers as promised. They fell down, revealing a pale and well-shaped backside, and Javert felt momentarily giddy with angry desire. "You are eager for this," he breathed, letting go of Montparnasse's right arm so he could let his hand glide over the naked flesh offered to him. "You want me to bugger you."  
  
Montparnasse groaned and pushed back. "Just hurry up, will you?"  
  
"I don't take orders from you," Javert bit him off. His prick was hard and impatient, chafing against his clothing. "Get those ridiculous trousers off."  
  
"They'll get dirty," Montparnasse protested. Javert's hand moved from his buttocks to his groin, and he let out a needy whimper. Javert felt his mouth widen. "No dirtier than you."  
  
Montparnasse whimpered again, but he relented, squirming to get his trousers off; meanwhile Javert kept a hold on his hip with one hand, while unbuttoning his greatcoat and working his own trousers open with the other. Montparnasse finally wriggled out of his trousers, which pooled on the dirty cobblestone. He looked at them with some chagrin, but then his gaze fell on Javert's prick, and his eyes widened. "Sweet Jesus," he muttered.  
  
Javert pushed him against the wall again, with his back to it this time. "Like what you see?" He bared his teeth, glancing down at his own protruding arousal. "You are going to feel it."  
  
"Oh fuck," moaned Montparnasse, apparently unable to tear his eyes away from Javert's prick. "Oh fuck, Javert, it's enormous, how --"  
  
"You will address me," Javert said, pushing two fingers into Montparnasse's mouth, "as _sir_. Is that clear?"  
  
Montparnasse nodded, uncharacteristically meek. He sucked at Javert's fingers eagerly, his eyes glazed, and Javert thought he'd go mad with the hot triumph pounding between his legs. "Enough," he barked and pulled his fingers out. "Spread your legs."  
  
"Yes, sir," Montparnasse panted. Two strong, slender thighs parted for Javert's hand, which found its goal soon enough. Javert pushed a wet finger against the ring of muscle; to his astonishment it slid right in. "You little harlot," he muttered, almost admiringly. "You are used to this."  
  
"What did you think?" Montparnasse clenched around his finger, his eyes falling shut. "Oh God, yes, more..."  
  
Javert slid in a second finger, dizzy with anger and lust. It was madness, glorious madness, but the walls were down, the sweet nightmares becoming real. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he panted. "You are going to feel it for days, oh _yes_ , every time you move you are going to think of me inside you..."  
  
Montparnasse's eyes snapped open, staring wild and wide into Javert's own. "Do it, then," he mumbled, and spread his legs even wider. " _Please_ , sir..."  
  
Javert wasted no time spitting in his hand and wetting his aching cock, Montparnasse's eyes following his movements hungrily. The boy's mouth was wet and red, and Javert could not stop himself from kissing it, like Eve drawn to the apple of sin. He nudged one of Montparnasse's legs up, hitching it over his thigh. "I'm going to take you right here," he panted against Montparnasse's mouth. "Right here against the wall, like the filthy punk you are."  
  
With his free hand he guided his prick between Montparnasse's thighs, groaning as he slid home. Montparnasse groaned in turn and pulled at Javert's other arm. "It will be better if you hold me up," he gasped in between angry kisses that were just as much bites. "If you lift me and hold me -- yes, yes, like that!" -- for Javert had gripped his buttocks with both hands and hoisted him up, thrusting him against the wall as his prick drove into Montparnasse's tight hotness. Montparnasse gave a loud moan; his head rolled back; Javert bit down into the line of pale neck like a starving man.

"Fuck," he panted against the smooth flesh, "fuck, fuck, you little catamite, you would let yourself be fucked for nothing, you are so eager for it, you're worse than a whore --"  
  
"By the Devil, yes," Montparnasse moaned, clenching his legs around Javert's waist. "It feels so good, even with an old sod like you -- ahh!" He threw his head back again and cried out as Javert, furious, thrust harder. "Fuck, yes, you are enormous, I can feel every inch of you, fuck, with a prick like that, who would have thought, fuck, harder, harder, God, Javert --"  
  
"Do not," Javert snarled, "say my name, you shameless little..." He drove into Montparnasse with hard, angry motions. "You have no sense of decency," he grunted between thrusts. "You steal and you lie and you taunt me -- opening your thighs for me like a slut, oh _God_ \-- when you could have been honest, when you could have had a respectable occupation, a wife --"  
  
"And what makes you think," Montparnasse panted in his ear, "that I want any of those things? A respectable occupation, when I'm so well-off as it is?" A breathless laugh mingled with his moans; sharp teeth bit into Javert's earlobe and tugged. "A wife, when so many pretty girls are more than happy to spread their legs for me as it is? When I can find more than enough men like yourself -- oh fuck, yes! -- whenever I feel like spreading _mine?_ "  
  
His words drove Javert to despair; they made his blood boil; they made him thrust even harder. "You won't learn," he choked out, his hands clutching at Montparnasse's naked backside with a force that would surely leave marks, ugly bruises on the flawless skin. That was right; that was as it should be. His mouth and teeth scraped over Montparnasse's lips and cheek and neck; let them leave marks there as well, let there be some visible proof of his disgrace. "You will always belong in the gutter, you filthy deviant, you --"  
  
Montparnasse cried out, and then there was a flood of wetness against his stomach, and Javert realised the thief's prick, trapped between their bodies, had stained his clothing. He swore, horrified and enraged, and then he came as well, emptying his anger and his shame inside Montparnasse, whose legs were still wrapped around him, his hands like vices on Javert's shoulders.  
  
Javert's chest heaved. He gasped for breath, unable to move for what felt like several minutes. Then he became conscious of the fact that he was still leaning into Montparnasse, holding him up against the wall, and he drew back as if burned. "Let go of me," he snapped, dropping his arms to his sides.  
  
Montparnasse loosened his grip and gracefully slid to his feet. His cheeks were flushed and there were bite marks on his neck and cheek, but this did not seem to bother him in the slightest. "Well, then," he said, the old infuriating grin back on his lips. "That might get you through the next week, don't you think?"  
  
"You..." Javert gritted his teeth. He fastened his trousers and buttoned his greatcoat with harsh, stiff motions, trying to ignore the wet stain of the cloth against his stomach. "I'm not the one who begs to be buggered," he ground out, not capable of thinking of any other retort. Even to his own ears it sounded hollow and flat, and the only reaction it provoked from Montparnasse was a laugh.  
  
"Very true, old man," he said, flashing a grin at Javert as he pulled on his soiled trousers. "That must be a great consolation for you -- although, well..." Again, there was a flash of pink tongue; again, Javert found himself unable to look away. "You are certainly missing out on something."  
  
Javert picked up his cudgel and felt in his pocket for his notebook. The meeting had not gone as planned at all; he felt naked, vulnerable, oddly disgraced. "Nothing more to tell me about the planned robbery?" he said, scrambling for some semblance of authority. His voice sounded weak and breathless.  
  
Montparnasse shrugged. "I've told you all I could. But next time..." His gaze trailed over Javert's body, and his smile became that of a wolf. "I will surely have more for you."  
  
Javert pursed his lips. He turned away from Montparnasse, heading back towards the main street, towards the people and the sunlight, pretending he could not feel the thief's gaze at his back.


End file.
